58
Hours later, Ethan sat on the porch with Zoë. The house had experienced a rush of activity that had made his head spin. A team of workmen had replaced the windows in the great room. Speedily, the men made the repairs and then cleaned up the mess, whisking away the debris of broken glass, bullet-riddled furnishings and other items broken or otherwise damaged in the hail of gunfire the room had seen. He could hardly believe all that had happened since Zoë killed Rosati. It seemed several days’ worth of action had occurred in a few hours and he was exhausted just witnessing it, never mind what he and Zoë had physically been through. Where Charles had sourced them late on a Sunday night, in addition to the materials they employed, was a mystery to Ethan but he could only assume Zoë’s father had considerable contacts and resources at his disposal. He felt a mixture of amazement, trepidation, and respect for the man. What would Charles have done to Rosati and his men if there hadn’t been others around?
Aside from Boone and Myles, most of the men that had been present to protect Zoë had left, after giving statements to agents. Only Rory remained, at Skip’s house with him. Faye had seen Skip after stitching up Ethan, and had determined he had a nasty concussion. Despite Faye’s suggestion, Skip refused to go to the hospital. She’d kicked up such a fuss that Rory had volunteered to stay with Skip to keep an eye on him for the night. Faye herself had left some time ago, after writing a prescription for pain-killers for Skip, and announcing she’d return the following afternoon to check on him and Ethan.
Ethan had tried to thank each man as they’d left and thought he’d managed to catch them all, but couldn’t really be sure. Fatigue threatened to drop him at any moment, and he squeezed Zoë’s hand, desperate to be alone with her, but understanding the necessity of all the commotion on the ranch. The bodies of Rosati and his men had been taken away, and now, he noted, many of the agents had left. Great, maybe they’d all be gone soon, and he and Zoë could have some much-needed peace. She’d been extremely quiet and it concerned him. He hoped killing Rosati hadn’t been too much for her. Sure, she’d been trained with firearms, but he didn’t know if Charles had employed any other training, though he suspected she’d learned hand-to-hand combat from what he’d seen when she fought Rosati. Taking a life was horribly damaging, but the distance of employing a gun to do so lessened the blow somewhat. She’d stabbed Rosati, an up close and personal act, and he feared it could have a horrid impact on her.
Silently vowing to help her in any way he could, his attention diverted to the opening front door of the house. Boone, Myles, and Charles exited and approached the couple as they stood, Ethan slowly. Charles smiled at Zoë. They still hadn’t spent any time together, and Ethan felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her to himself. A small twinge. He never wanted her out of his sight, ever, but Charles was her father.
As he looked at Ethan, Charles’s expression was tough to read. That hard look was back, not as severe as before though, and Ethan held his breath, unsure what Charles, who’d been communicating with the agency, had discovered about Rosati. While Rosati and his men were dead, it had been unclear if Zoë was a target of the Bosa family.
“The windows have been fixed, and all the damaged items taken away. Both the great room and kitchen have been cleaned. I’ll transfer money into your account to replace all you lost tonight.”
Ethan couldn’t care less about that, but nodded, eager to hear about what truly plagued him still. “Rosati’s hit on Zoë wasn’t sanctioned by the Bosa family. It turns out he’s an embarrassment to them, and our mob informants tell us the Bosas are willing to let the matter rest. There won’t be any noise from them, nor repercussions for the deaths of Rosati or his men. Toronto police are also content to let the matter be, considering one of their officers was on Rosati’s payroll. Zoë is safe.”
Relief almost buckled Ethan’s knees but he managed to stay upright and blew the breath he’d been holding out sharply. Charles held out his hand, and Ethan shook it.
“Again, I thank you for all you’ve done for Zoë, and for your actions tonight. She’s safe now but I know you’ll protect her if anything comes your way, as unlikely as it seems. You’re a good man, Collins, and I couldn’t be happier that my daughter is with you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He smiled at Ethan’s address and then turned to Myles. “You be sure to contact the number I gave you if anyone present tonight needs any help, suffers any anxiety, or stress, anything like that. We’ll provide any needed counselling.”
After thanking Myles and Boone for their help, Charles held his arms out to Zoë. As they embraced, Ethan saw Charles’s authoritative expression melt into one of relief and boundless love for her. He was now only a man hugging his daughter, a sight that tugged at Ethan’s heart. He rounded the pair to stand by Myles and Boone, affording Zoë and her father some privacy. They spoke to one another in hushed tones, exchanging loving looks. Then Charles placed a hand on her cheek as he said something. She nodded, smiling. After planting a kiss on her cheek, he left, trotting down the steps and taking long strides to his SUV. Ethan found their parting sweet, but succinct, and thought Zoë would’ve appreciated spending more time with her father. Still, he reasoned the pair were used to Charles’s demanding work schedule by now.
Myles said his goodbyes, Ethan thanked him profusely, and then he left. Boone inched forward, and Ethan could only describe the look on his friend’s face as regret as he locked eyes with Zoë.
“I am so sorry. I misjudged you. I honestly thought you were setting Ethan up for something. Now, after all this ... Shit, if I’d had my head screwed on straight, maybe I could have prevented all this.” He held his hand out. “Can you forgive me?”
Certain he was finished with emotional scenes for the night, watching Boone’s apology cut Ethan deeply. Boone had been through so much in his life, from the sudden death of his parents, to Zandra’s rape and Rory’s incarceration, not to mention the horrors he’d witnessed on the job. His coping mechanism was to hide his emotions, even as Ethan knew how profoundly his friend felt them. It was difficult for him to voice his feelings. Ethan loved Boone more for doing so now.
“Of course I forgive you,” Zoë responded. “I know you were only trying to look out for Ethan. I didn’t make any of this easy for him, you, or anyone else. I feel like I should be apologizing to you, too.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Boone told her. “I really do understand why you did what you did. You just said I was looking out for Ethan, but so were you. Let’s just put all that aside and start over.”
He held out his hand again. Ethan wasn’t surprised when Zoë moved around it to embrace Boone, but Boone seemed shocked. Supposing he thought Zoë would hold a grudge, Ethan knew better. She had an infinite capacity for understanding others. Zoë pulled back from Boone and delivered a wide smile that he returned.
As Boone’s gaze returned to his, Ethan’s eyes grew watery at the sight of tears in his friend’s eyes. Boone then hugged him tightly, causing him to grunt. Yeah, it hurt, but he clung to Boone, knowing how fearful he’d been. He would have been just as frightened had Boone been injured.
“Sorry, but you scared me earlier,” Boone told him softly. “You’ve got nine lives, Collins.”
“That’s doubtful,” Ethan said as Boone released him, “and, trust me, I won’t be looking to push my luck for quite some time.”
Boone smiled at that, then grew serious again. “You know, you should’ve seen Charles in action. He was something to see. I swear he took out most of Rosati’s men on his own. He’s so damn fast and he’s got wicked aim.”
Ethan wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear of Charles’s close-to-superhuman-antics as described by Boone. It wasn’t just Charles’s training that accounted for Ethan’s lack of shock. Charles was a man protecting his daughter, and Ethan knew if he himself had a daughter, he’d be no less effective at protecting her.
“Well, I’m going to check in on Skip and Rory and say goodn
ight to them, then head home. I called Zandra earlier to let her know we were all safe, but she’ll worry until I’m home. You two get some rest, you deserve it.”
They bid Boone goodnight and then stood quietly until his long legs carried him out of their sight. Ethan turned to Zoë. Exhaustion lined her face, and her eyes looked haunted.
“We need to talk but can it wait until the morning? I have a lot of explaining to do, I know I do, but tonight I just want to go to sleep in your arms.”
“That’s all I want,” he assured her. “Everything else can wait.”
After painfully climbing the stairs, he stripped off his jeans as Zoë disrobed. She had to help him with his shirt, as lifting his one arm proved to be an issue. He was damn sore and could have used a painkiller but the only one he was interested in indulging in was that of Zoë’s presence. Gingerly, he reclined back in the bed and she snuggled against his sound side. They hadn’t spoken a word since their exchange on the porch, and he was fine with it. He’d meant all they needed to discuss could wait until the morning. Right now, this was all he wanted, Zoë in his arms, and a chance to put their arduous night behind them. She felt so perfect beside him, her head on his chest. He stroked her back and she sighed contently. It was music to his ears. He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her, but exhaustion overtook him, closing his eyes, and pulling him into a much-needed slumber.
59
Nostrils flaring with the scent of frying bacon, Ethan slowly opened his eyes as his hand reached for Zoë. Awareness dawned with the feel of the bedsheet under his palm. Of course she wasn’t beside him, she was cooking. His eyes snapped open. It was Monday morning. Was she cooking for the men, after everything she’d been through last night? He jerked upright but his motion stopped abruptly as a crippling pain raged in his side. Right, the gunshot wound.
Slowly, he rose from bed, and pulled on a pair of jeans, unsure if anyone else was in the house or if it was just Zoë downstairs. The bright sunlight spilling through the window told him it was far later than his usual waking time. He was miffed she hadn’t woken him. She’d undoubtedly thought he needed sleep, but he’d so wanted to wake up with her still in his arms. They felt more than empty, they felt abandoned, and he told himself that was ridiculous. She was downstairs. She hadn’t abandoned him.
His trip down the stairs took more time than he’d wanted. He was eager to see her, to ensure she was okay after last night’s horrors. Holding his arm protectively against his throbbing side, he made his made to the kitchen. Then he stood in the doorway and watched Zoë bustle around the kitchen in her normal manner.
Dressed in jeans and a blouse, her hair in a high ponytail, she flipped the sizzling bacon in a frying pan, then placed another pan on the neighbouring element and turned the stove’s dial. Turning to go to the fridge, she spotted him, and a warm smile spread across her lips.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” he responded slowly, unsure why she appeared so normal.
“Good.” She motioned to the island. “I got up early as usual. I went to town and got your prescription filled. You should take one.”
“Tell me you didn’t cook breakfast for the men.”
“No, Skip called me earlier to inform me he’d called them all and told them to eat before coming to work, to make sure we weren’t disturbed.”
Good man. He should’ve known Skip would handle the men, even with the concussion he had. Thinking Skip might have just earned a raise, he drew closer to the island. Zoë extracted eggs from the fridge, and then moved back to the stove. Her motions confused him. She was acting so normal. Last night, she’d been attacked in this very room by a man intent on killing her. He couldn’t understand how she could, the next morning, fall right back into her normal schedule, as if nothing had happened. After taking a painkiller, he leaned against the counter and watched her add butter to the pan. Then he noticed the slight shake to her shoulders. When she released a sob, he rushed to her, turned her to face him, and enveloped her in his arms.
“I tried,” she sobbed out, “I tried to act like everything was okay, and normal.”
She cried harder, and he reached out to turn off the stove, then moved the smoking pan off the element. He held her tightly, stroking her head and back, whispering soothing words, telling her they’d get through this with time. He believed his words fervently. It wouldn’t be easy, and they had a rocky path ahead of them, but they would get through it, with the help of one another.
Slowly, she calmed and then pulled away from him. She dabbed under her eyes with a paper towel, then blew her nose with it and discarded it. After washing her hands, she turned to face him.
“I don’t cry.” Well, she just had, but he figured she rarely did. The fact she’d needed to cry now solidified what he’d already known. She needed to take the time to address what had happened. “We’re going to have breakfast. We both need to eat, and you’re supposed to take those pills with food. After breakfast, we’ll talk. I know there’s much I need to tell you, and I will, I promise.”
With breakfast finished, they sat facing one another in the dining room, coffees in hand. She told him everything she’d been keeping from him. Repeating her story of how she fled Toronto, she added in details this time, how she’d been prepared with money, temporary IDs, and disguises. How she’d texted her father, purchased her truck and phone in Edmonton, and carefully searched for a job listing in a secluded environment. She even told him things he was surprised she shared, like how her mother had left just after her birth, and how active her grandparents had been in her upbringing. Her grandfather had been a retired CSIS agent and he, too, instructed her, having her field-stripping firearms from the age of six. Ethan found that odd, but couldn’t deny she’d had a loving experience as a child, evidenced by how adoringly she spoke of her grandparents and father. She explained how her father’s job could make those around him a target, and that was why she’d been working at the restaurant in Toronto under a synthetic identity. She outlined how she’d lived, avoiding an on-line footprint, never making close friendships, always on guard and ready to flee if needed. He’d found that sad, and reached out to hold her hand.
Finished her story, she sighed. “I’m so sorry I lied to you for so long. I understand if you can’t forgive me for that.”
“I already have,” he replied. “I understand why you felt you needed to keep things to yourself, but I really do wish you had have trusted me. We could’ve avoided a lot of misunderstanding and hurt if you’d been honest earlier.”
“I know, and I’ll always regret not confiding in you when I should have.”
He ran his thumb over her knuckles. She’d told him more than he expected, and it solidified what he knew. They belonged together. While they’d had a shaky start, she trusted him. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, exactly what he’d always dreamt of but never thought he could have. She was confident, fearless, compassionate, talented, so damn intelligent, and astoundingly beautiful. Best of all, she loved him as much as he loved her. She was perfect and, the danger that had plagued her behind them now, she could truly be his.
Heart soaring with that knowledge, something still nagged at him. She’d told him, and her father, that she wanted to remain on the ranch with him, but he needed to know in what context. He almost felt foolish asking, considering they’d only known each other for a month, but he had to voice the question. Nothing about their relationship so far had been normal, so he figured his proposal didn’t need to be either.
“I don’t need your regrets, but I do need your vow.”
When she cocked her head, he continued. “I want you to stay here on the ranch, with me. But, if you do, it’s for the long run. I don’t do things halfway and I need all of you. Ranching isn’t for most women, but then again you’re not just any woman.” He shrugged. “Shit, darling, you know I suck at voicing my feelings. What I’m trying to ask is, will you be mine? Wholeheartedly, and for life? Will you be my girl
friend, knowing I will make you my wife someday, when we’re ready to marry? I need to know. Will you be mine?”
60
The mention of marriage shocked her a bit, but the rest certainly didn’t. Did she want to stay with him, be his, heart and soul, knowing he’d return her love as intensely? What an easy decision to make. Of course, she wanted that. She loved him and all she had with him, a loving relationship, and a future of devotion. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a partner. She’d always thought a man like him would be denied her, that she’d always live as she had, ready to flee at a moment’s notice, never able to plant roots and stay in one place. She could now, with him, and she couldn’t be happier. No longer did she have to shield her heart. She was free to love and be loved, wholly, just as he asked for, as they both deserved.
Her eyes scanned over his exposed torso. Considering he hadn’t been able to take his shirt off last night, she had no doubt he couldn’t put one on this morning. The bandages on his body belied the healthy glow on his face. Flushed with emotion? Probably, as she knew she was. He’d almost died last night, well, they both had, but he got hurt. Luck prevented the bullet from entering an inch or two over, an event that would have claimed his life. Maybe it wasn’t just luck. Maybe, just maybe, they were meant to be together. She’d never been one to believe in destiny, firmly believing she had control over her life. But she hadn’t had much control last night. Perhaps that’s what prompted her current thinking, or perhaps it was the love that surged through her. All she knew with any certainly was she wanted a future with Ethan and would do anything to make it happen.
Done a Runner (Wanted Men of Bison Bluffs Book 1) Page 21
